


It’ll Buff Right Out

by SiderealV



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers: Prime
Genre: BDSM sort of, Bloodplay, Bondage, Consensual Violence, Hatesex, M/M, Robogore, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Trash Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3412172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiderealV/pseuds/SiderealV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whirl and Knockout both love to inflict pain... and receive it. </p><p>Tumblr prompt fill for starfrag. This so, so far out of left field from my usual schtick ahahah. Well, there’s a first time for everything. Critique is welcomed and highly encouraged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It’ll Buff Right Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starfrag](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=starfrag).



"Y’know… If I’d have known busting up your paintjob would turn you into a rutting turbofox.. . unh…! I would have fragged you up _forever_ ago! HAAGH!! Nnhss—!!” Whirl’s voxcoder dissolved into static as a taloned servo twisted his left chassis gun down with a sickening squeal of metal. 

"Mmh if you had a mouth, I’d weld it shut," the medic purred. Clutching the mangled limb for leverage, Knockout drew himself up high on the other’s ruined spike before slamming back down with an open-mouthed gasp. Whirl howled in pain, and the former decepticon laughed, giddy. He ground down, head tipped back, and moaned in appreciation of the other’s struggling beneath him. The wreck of metal where his saw had been ripped off leaked freely despite initial repairs, mirroring a hundred oozing dents and scratches marring his perfect figure.

"Do you—hah! Have any idea how long it’s going to take to buff out the damage you’ve done with those clumsy boltcutters of yours?" The thick cord spasmed and twitched inside him, jabbing sharply against his inner nodes in ways a normal spike never would. His optics dimmed, sliding out of focus as the blunt tip snagged and rubbed against his calipers in a maddening dance of aching pleasure. He’d wondered, at first, if the stripped appendage had been part of the other’s empurata, or if the sick fragger had done it to himself. Either way, it felt fantastic; he decided he didn’t care. Knockout jerked the busted turret hard as he spiked himself without thought for the other’s pleasure, energon spattering as he finally wrenched it off its hinges.

"HhnnhalRIGHT!" the once-wrecker’s helm slammed back on the ground behind him, laughed high, hysterical once his voice returned. "Now we’re talkin’!" Light flared from his single optic, pleasure and pain coursing in a perpetual loop through his systems. The soft mesh of the grounder’s valve was gently swollen with lust and had to be tender from their violent union, and yet somehow his sopping pit was still tight enough to suck at Whirl’s spike lewdly with every pass. Primus, he just wanted to frag this glitch _raw_.

"NGH! You’re lucky you nailed me to the floor, you little spike-whore. Next time I’ll break BOTH of those pretty hands." The medic cried out as he slammed up, straining against his bonds even as energon welled up beneath them. Whirl’s bindings kept him down, but powerful legs braced to buck his hips up hard enough to nearly dethrone the rutting medic. Knockout gasped, and the resulting snag of talons in his transformation made his spike spit transfluid even in advance of his impending overload. He bucked up again, harder this time. Joints popped and bolts scattered as he tore upward. "Ohh _yeah!_ ”

It shouldn’t have been possible, he would reason later; he had literally drilled the helicopter to the floor. But then that strength and unpredictability was what had drawn him to the other in the first place. Bowled onto his back, Knockout howled as the lanky mech mounted him. Glass cracked as his headlights blew out, Whirl bearing down on him like a thing undone, babbled obscenities and filthy praise into the medic’s audial. 

Knockout positively writhed. His valve was on fire, the burning stretch of the other’s spike pounding into him again, and again, and again. Pedes scrabbled for purchase, propping his knees up and his legs spread wide to receive each frenzied thrust. When the flier finally screamed in overload, the searing burst of transfluid flooding his used valve tipped him over the edge. Helm tipped back in a silent scream, he met overload hard.

Knockout’s optics rolled back in his helm as he collapsed struttlessly beneath the other mech. Warnings screamed across his HUD as he felt himself dropping into emergency stasis… And if he’d had the presence of mind, he would have smirked. When he found them unconscious and tangled in a puddle of their own filth and energon on his medbay floor, Ratchet was going to be _furious_.


End file.
